


Old Devil Moon

by CynthiaK2014



Series: Highlander [3]
Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: M/M, Song Lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-31 00:54:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3958354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CynthiaK2014/pseuds/CynthiaK2014
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Song Cycle 5</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old Devil Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimers: Characters owned by Rysher/Davis. No infringement intended. Old Devil Moon from the musical Finian's Rainbow. Words by Burton Lane - Music by E. Y. Harburg. 
> 
> Also, just a little pet peeve of mine. There, their and they're. They really are separate and distinct words and shouldn't be used interchangeably. Really!

Old Devil Moon

 

Duncan reached for another term paper on ancient art. Why did he do this to himself every semester? His Art History 101 class was a good bunch of kids but their spelling could use a little work. Making yet another red mark on the page, he sighed. Okay, a lot of work. How hard could it be to learn the difference between there and their?

A thud broke through his rambling thoughts and he looked up in time to see Methos kick off his other shoe before heading for the kitchen, swaying and singing along with the CD on the stereo. Duncan grinned wryly. It had been a musical afternoon. Brigadoon, Camelot, the King and I, but this one was . . . oh yes, Finian's Rainbow with Petula Clark. He shook his head. Methos had the strangest taste in music.

"I look at you and suddenly,  
Something in your eyes I see;  
Soon begins bewitching me."

Then his gaze softened. *Almost as strange as his taste in lovers.* The oldest immortal swayed in time to the music, his hips moving seductively in the gray cotton gym shorts. His long runner's legs stretched all the way down to the drooping white tube socks and Duncan felt a familiar tightening in his groin.

He tried to distract himself with guessing what Methos had in store for dinner tonight. He watched the unaware cook pull several containers from the refrigerator along with a bottle of beer. Duncan watched yet another bottle cap sail behind the fridge and grinned. Oh sure, he complained about it but it gave him a warm feeling to know that Methos felt comfortable enough to keep on doing it.

His lover bent over to fish for a pot from the depths of a lower cupboard and Duncan hastily forced his eyes back to the paper on . . . what the hell was this one about? *Oh yeah, Minoan art.* He managed to finish it and grab the next one from the stack of . . . eight more. He gave a mental moan and decided to risk another look at Methos. Barely restraining an audible groan, he gazed at a semi-nude Greek god.

"It's that old devil moon;  
That you stole from the skies.  
It's that old devil moon in your eyes."

At some point, Methos had removed his t-shirt and he stood, stirring a pot in time to an Irish air from the soundtrack. His hairless chest gleamed with a faint sheen of sweat in the sunlight and Duncan's fingers itched to touch those gleaming muscles. So many people thought of his lover as lanky and gawky under all those layers of clothes he usually wore. But they had no idea how sculpted he was. All clean lines and lean sinews without an inch of fat anywhere. It made him feel overblown. *Maybe I need to go on a diet? Look at that flat stomach.*

"You and your glance;  
Make this romance;  
Too hot to handle."

He watched while Methos stuck his finger in the mixture and brought it to his mouth for a taste. His tongue lapped at the reddish mixture and Duncan felt his jeans grow tighter. Dropping his eyes, he reached for the next booklet. *Term papers, Teach. Finish the damn papers so you can play with temptation later.* The next three essays were read quickly and marked in red while the totally unoriginal thoughts on the ancient art of Mesopotamia, Egypt and Greece flowed mindlessly through his consciousness.

"Stars in the night;  
Blazing their light;  
Can't hold a candle;  
To your razzle-dazzle."

He looked up and watched the red sunset bathe Methos in it's dying light. *Talk about a living, breathing work of art. And ancient to boot.* He grinned wryly and tossed his pen onto the desk top. No way could he finish these now. Not while Methos was prowling like a sleek cat around the table, lighting candles and singing along with the music.

Duncan watched helplessly as the old man strolled over, his green-gold gaze intent on his. Hypnotizing, yes. Bewitching, absolutely. His Methos was a shadowy figure out of a myth, a creature of the night and the moon. He had shunned the light for so long that Duncan felt humbled and unsure sometimes about his coming out into the open just to help him.

"You've got me flyin' high and wide;  
On a magic carpet ride;  
Full of butterlies inside."

Methos-scent crept over his senses, overlaid by the subtle smells of thyme and oregano. He pulled Duncan from his chair with one long fingered hand. The other caressed his cheek, before drifting lower to the edge of his shirt and running those lovely warm fingers over the front, buttons magically opening under his touch.

The silk shirt fell away, slithering down his arms and catching at his waist where his pants were still clasped tight. But Methos was slowly unbuttoning his jeans and sliding those clever fingers inside to stroke and rub within his boxers. His own hands had found their place on those gently swaying hips

"Wanna cry, wanna croon,  
Wanna laugh like a loon.  
It's that old devil moon in your eyes."

Gentle lips coaxed and teased his into a tender kiss that tasted of tomatoes and garlic . . . and Methos. Tongues slid together and apart in their own dance while their clothes melted slowly away. Then, Methos led him to the middle of the room and pulled him close. Swaying to the music, Duncan felt every inch of skin pressed against him and watched his lover hum along with the tune that had been echoing in his head all afternoon.

"I love you, Methos."

"I know you do, Highlander." The hawk's gaze was full of wonder. "I can't imagine why you should but I think I finally believe it." He feathered another kiss of promise across Duncan's thirsty lips. "I love you, too. These days, all I can see is you. Such a gift you've given me."

Duncan slid his hands to Methos' lower back to pull him closer. "I'm the one who received the gift. Your love is precious to me and I promise to guard it carefully. Even from myself." A dark memory of his rejection of this man struck like lightning.

"Sh-h-h-h-h, love." Methos coaxed his chin up and drank away the pain from tight lips. "I thought we were going to leave what happened in the past . . . in the past." Reminding Duncan of the pledge they'd made to each other when they had first come together.

The pain melted away under a suddenly hot and devouring kiss. Methos drew away and his gaze was fierce. "Dinner can wait a bit. Come to bed, Duncan and let me remind you that we belong together."

Duncan followed with a sweet ache of anticipation that built with each step. His last thought before falling into pleasure was the rueful acknowledgement that his students papers would not be finished before tomorrow.

"Just when I think I'm,  
Free as a dove.  
Old devil moon,  
Deep in your eyes,  
Blinds me with love."


End file.
